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Under the bluntred flap

Bone; beneath flesh that should not present

Itself in cleft.

A scarlet ditch

Irrigated with pain.

The grudge, lingering beyond

My corporeal sins.



I have a crypt for a mouth;

A great, fleshy sepulcher

With a flaccid, keeling floor.

It heaves with aspiration.

The cavern roars-

My unchecked cries.



These twin-cankered spikes

Remain.  The last outposts

Of my disease.

Brittle brownblack corpses.

Dead trees still rooted in.

I am sunken.



Hate may manifest as grave as this.

Only my tongue mourns my

Edentulous fate.

My body knows its transgression;

Encapsulated here,



An empty chrysalis.

A butterfly gulled

In its most vulnerable state.

This husk remains:

Brittle;

Incurvate;

Unforgiving as pain.